Tribute X: Rewrite
by blackedawne
Summary: For 99 years, the Hunger Games has survived and relived many experiences; but many aspects of the Games have changed too, much to the surprise of young Azalea Fellin. I decided to restart this story differently, I wasn't pleased with the last one. XD
1. Prologue: Intent

_**TRIBUTE X**_

_**Disclaimer:** I am not Suzanne Collins, nor do I intend to steal her work. The Hunger Games, and several obvious characters belong to her.  
_

_**Author's Note**: This is in third person. Different perspectives will be written. It shall be indicated when. Ideas of the arena, Hunger Games Rule Change and various characters belong to me; Names and identities of several tributes belong to the members of the Hunger Games RPG.  
_

**D****AY 1 SUBSEQUENT to 99th ****H****UNGER ****G****AMES, ****2036 hours: ****R****ITALION**  
Through the dimly lit halls, the footman , Yaxley, rushed with the information chip at hand. His gray eyes reflected what light there was left coming in from the outside, which was very little. The windows had been tinted years ago to prevent any prying, spying eyes. His shoes tapped on the tile floor, rising into the air as a quick, wary rhythm. He swiped the sweat from his brow, he had been running around all day for the King. _It is only your duty to bring the information to His Highness, nothing more. You shall not care where he is or how long you remain there. _ he tried to comfortably remind himself. But everything was not that simple.

Coming to the fourth door on the left, he turned routinely and knocked without hesitation. From behind the door, piercing the silence came a dark voice, edited slightly by the communication system that came through the door. "Friend or foe?" Yaxley straightened a little; it was considered improper to not be in an upright stance. "Yaxley, Your Honour." A few more seconds crawled by.

"Proceed."

The metal door slid open in less than a second flat. The footman had never quite gotten used to it. But nevertheless, he entered without further hesitation. The door opened to a large, circular room with a long desk running all around it, and various large monitors. Before him sat a large chair, with a tall back, sure to cover the head of whoever dared rested there. It was a grand chair no doubt, passed on for generations through the royal family of Ritalion, but what a looming, fearful resting it had been. Yaxley never questioned it, nor feared it. He had no need to. He knew so little about it. "The Hunger Games files are complete, Your Highness."

Between two fingers he held a microelectronic chip, no larger than a quarter. Stepping to the King's side, he laid it gently on the desk in front of him. The door behind him snapped shut. He dared not look into his eyes, it was a rule. A dark shadow was cast over his face, and the lighting in the room and been designed specifically that way for that one reason.

"Excellent." he replied stoically. "If you will, Yaxley..." A slender, gloved hand gestured towards a small slit in the wall, just large enough for the chip to fit. Yaxley did as he was told, and pushed the chip into the slit. Immediately, hundreds of live footage, pictures and coded numbers flashed onto the screens, drifting in all different directions at a readable pace.

Drawing back his hand into the shadow, the King spoke again. Wherever his eyes were in there, was where they scanned all the information. "Enlarge Monitor 1, Yaxley." he commanded calmly.

Without reply, the footman did so. After pressing a pattern of buttons and keys, the first screen was enlarged and enhanced to full view. In the surround speakers, a full, loud applause was just ending. In the video itself sat two people seated on a stage that seemed to be prepared for some interview or news report. One was a youthful man, with lush, dark brown hair that curved upwards away from his face. The tips had been dyed orange and red, taking resemblance to a flame. A moving image had been made onto his suit, glittering the same color as the ends of his hair.

"Such peculiar styles they take up in Panem, don't you think?"  
"Yes, Your Honour."

Then the speaking began again. "So, how do you feel?" the voice was encouraging, like any other reporter.  
The other was the Victor, clearly feeling pressured into an awkward situation. So many years of studying the Victors gave the King what sort of impression each one had shown, and will show. The look reflected in the Victor's unusual eyes, however, was unfathomable to the King or his footman. It was something they hadn't quite seen before.

"To be honest... I'm not sure how I feel..." it was a pure, accented voice, compared to the realm of Ritalion anyway. It reminded the King of a broken bell, still tolling gently along, oblivious to the world around it. "It's something I can't read, which startles and amazes me..." This was responded with an eruption of kind laughter from the audience. "I guess only time will tell." the Victor continued. A baffled expression found it's way onto the interviewer's face. _Remus Flickerman..._ Yaxley thought, remembering his father just as well, in the exact same spot he was sitting in at that moment.

"Really? No... pride or grief, sorrow or happiness?" That last one no one could admit. No one had felt that after winning such a feat. "I mean, you have just won the 99th Hunger Games. Don't you feel something?" Some more hesitation came, but it wasn't at a loss for words, the King figured. It was to reshape them.  
"I never implied I felt nothing." came the soft retort. "I guess... you could say it's a mix of many emotions. Or possibly I'm just very overwhelmed."

_The same thing said twice,_ the King noted. _Clever with words._

After a shrug of the shoulders, as if lifting or brushing away some troublesome burden, the Victor continued. "Without a doubt, I don't believe the memories I've gained from here shall ever leave me. And I'll be glad to never show my face here again. No offense." the Victor raised their hands solemnly. The audience laughed again, as did Remus Flickerman. "None taken." he replied with the exact same charm his father had on the crowd. "I assume you'll want to settle down now and return back to your normal life, eh?"

The eyes of the Victor were altered, still unreadable, but they seemed to have grown a little darker, as if recalling something dreadful or haunting. Despite such, the Victor reclined on the couch and folded their hands behind the head. "Oh, most definitely." said with a nod of the head. The King could detect the smallest amount of sarcasm in the tone. Thinking exactly as the interviewed was, he tried to understand the feelings and thoughts running through the Victor's head.

Remus Flickerman leaned forward, rested one elbow on his knee and then rested his chin upon his hand. "What are you going to do first?" he inquired. Casually, the Victor smirked and closed their eyes. "As I am doing now; My first act will be to recline like this and try to forget you people." This brought the loudest laughter yet from the crowd.

As the smirk disappeared from the countenance, the Victor's tone became more sincere, and tranquil, drawing in a long lost memory. "Truthfully, I just long for my home; to run for the longest distance over a newly grown plain and then dive into a pool of clear water. Without having the burden of worry upon my shoulders that there will be someone at my back, waiting for the opportune moment to kill me. The eyes flashed again. They were fire orange, flickering like a weak new flame in an unfamiliar darkness. "It's the sole place I can think clearly. I can quietly dream and get lost in memories of the past." It was the most solemn words spoken that night.

Smiling sympathetically, Remus replied, as though he had been pulled into that dream too. "That's a beautiful thought." his eyes wandered to the crowd and he held out a hand towards the Victor. "How about a round of applause for this brilliant youth?" The audience howled, cheered and thunderously clapped their approval.  
"You've been through so much these recent days. And if it's what you want, I hope we never see you again either." Another rise of laughter. _How foolish the people of the Capitol are. _ the King pondered. "No offense."

"None taken." the Victor grinned, half-heartedly. The Victor's fingers entwined with each other on their lap and they sat up straight again, to be polite. "And that's our-"

The King paused the footage then, reaching in front of Yaxley, then rewound the tape a little until there was a clear picture of the Victor's face. In silence, the King put all his implications and facts together.  
"If I may, Your Highness; what peculiar eyes this one has.." Yaxley examined the picture as well, adjusting his round-rimmed spectacles onto his face.

"Yes indeed, Yaxley. Very unusual irises." A snap came from the King's direction. "Pull up the Victor's file, if you will." Although this matter had nothing to do with Yaxley's will or desire. Curtly nodding, Yaxley rapidly typed again. The first footage returned to it's original place and a new image replaced it. In the picture, the Victor was not smiling, for at the time it was taken, they had no reason to. All the biography of the youth appeared to the right. The King scanned this without audible wording.

"It cannot be the same person." Yaxley cleared his throat and marvelled.  
"And yet it is." The King responded.  
"Sir?"  
"Yes, Yaxley?"  
"It's one of them, Your Honour."  
A trembling silence. "Yes." Abruptly he rose from the chair, his face still hidden in shadow. "You know what shall become of this now."  
Confused, Yaxley turned his face to him. "I beg your pardon, Your Highness?"  
The luminescent, gloom that were the king's eyes pierced into his footman. Then turned away, as if he couldn't stand to look that way much longer. "Tell me, Yaxley... how many years have we watched Panem?"  
The footman returned his glasses to his pocket. "Ninety-nine, sir."  
"How many years have we been allied to Panem?"  
"...Forty-nine, Your Honour..."  
A malichious smile crept onto his face. "How many years have we controlled Panem, Yaxley?"  
Without pleasure, he replied. "...Twenty-four..."  
"And how many years have we put this... 'test' on trial?"  
"...Nine years, Your Highness..."  
In one swift movement, a hand from the darkness grasped Yaxley by the front of his coat and pulled his chin up to meet face to face with his master. He still could not see a thing, his eyesight had been blurred. "The entire land of Panem is in debt to us, Yaxley. Ever since that little nuisance of a Rebellion, they have been obliged under our will."  
Trying not to feel or appear frightened, he nodded. He was dropped back onto his feet and the King turned away again. "How many more years until everything falls into place, Yaxley?"  
Trembling now, he found himself unable to respond.  
"Yaxley!"  
"...One, sir..." he said in his husky voice. The chair spun and shot out in the footman's direction in some sort of outburst. He leaped back and grunted as his back fell into the edge of the desk.  
"Arrange connections with the President of Panem for me!" he ordered. The King's hand gestured to the door and it shot open again. Yaxley backed out of the room willingly and turned away. "Yes, Your Highness!"  
As he took one step out of the cylindrical room, the dooming voice shouted at him again.

"And get me more information on this Victor!"

**Comments and Criticism welcome! **


	2. Silhouettes

**D****AY 1 SUBSEQUENT to 99th ****H****UNGER ****G****AMES, 1206**** h****ours****: CAPITOL  
**

Slam.  
Creak.  
Elongated silence.  
"What's the matter?"  
Cold, accusing glare.  
"You never told me."  
Confound countenance.  
Knowing ponders.  
"I didn't tell you what?"  
Suspicious gaze.  
Grim air.  
"You didn't inform me that you were a hard-core assassin."  
Struck heart-string.  
Chair pushed back harshly.  
Undeniable truth.  
"I'm sure you enjoyed every moment of it, didn't you? No pity, no guilt, no hesitance; just a cold, dark instinct waiting to be reawakened."  
Short tranquility.  
"Let me construe this..."  
"What needs to be refined? I understand exactly what went on. I saw it with my own eyes."  
Hurt.  
Discomfort.  
Hate.  
Retorting.  
"You think I found pleasure in all that!"  
"Well you certainly weren't crying!"  
"There was no exception for mourning!"  
"You killed him!"  
Aghast expression.  
Unexpected pain.  
Inward pain.  
"I..."  
Water welling up.  
Whispers.  
"I..."  
"You traitor!"  
Thud.  
Crash.  
"Why won't you let me explain?"  
Tears.  
Anger.  
Thud.  
Crash.  
"Because I can't tell the difference between your lies and truth!"  
Heavy breathing.  
Cracking.  
Rising up again.  
"You used to trust me."  
"Before I knew you clearly."  
Dark tone.  
Rising up again.  
Dried tears.  
Stoic tint to eyes.  
Unwilling to show the true pain beneath.  
Be strong. Be triumphant.  
"I can't say there were many things I believed in that Arena."  
Intent listening.  
"I could have gone insane. I could have lost my life."  
Wishes and desires.  
But still receiving.  
"Your faith in me was good once. It couldn't keep me away from the pain. But it sufficed."  
Anger.  
Believe in.  
Lies.  
"I still have faith in you. I have faith that you will leave here with that same black heart you went into the Arena with."  
Something broke.  
But still lived.  
In agony.  
Turn.  
Creak.  
"Thank you, otherwise. For everything."  
Slam.  
Sole silence.  
Exhale.  
Realization.  
Utter confusion.  
"What have you gone into?"  
Closed eyes.  
Thinking meditatively.  
"What began your wretched journey?"  
Stopped breathing.  
Howling of wild wind.  
"What have you gotten yourself into?"  
Foreboding shadows.

**Author's Note: I apologize if the format of this chapter is puzzling. No, I was not at a loss for words today, this format was intentional. After telling you this, and seeing the other future chapters, you may be able to fathom why.  
**


	3. Crime

**P****RECEDING THE 99TH ****H****UNGER ****G****AMES, 0931 Hours**

Nothing could have frightened her more, or prepared her in any way. It wasn't like she could practice a scandal. Not in Panem, she knew too well. The world seemed to be spinning like a top, faltering at its point of her life and reputation. They had begun the pursuit, it didn't matter if she was clad in a cloak of silence now. It wasn't an extra effort to slow her breathing, it was more of a habit really. She knew, that not far behind her, rustling in the bushes, came the Peacekeepers, guns at hand and too austere faces targeting her life-source.  
The smaller body, whose step was awkward as it was, being held by force against the larger, was warm, sweating as well, if not heavier. But she understood less than none of what was going through her sister's mind at the moment. She could only help herself enough to wonder if she had finally lost it mentally. It was a disheartening pondering, but unlikely. Her feet were bare, pressing small imprints into the soft, dirt floor of the forest.  
The elder one was focused, mind set and planned course completely intact. She just hoped she knew things firmly enough. She swerved a sudden turn to the right, taking cover behind a tree than maneuvering the two of them through a maze of elders and pines and oaks. At the corners of her eyes, everything was blurred, but it didn't matter. _Just a little farther..._  
In the nearby distance, an evidently old and worn willow, lone and sad, came up ahead. Her gait lengthened and she sprinted the last measure as quickly as she could. Sticking out her left arm, she hit the tree with immense force and gripped tightly on it, causing the younger to be thrown out of her grasp. "Run Minnie!" she hissed. "Go! Up a tree past the river!"  
Her deep blue eyes, a color that would always remind her of a deep trench in the ocean, lit by a single ray of sunshine, trembled with a mixed bag of emotions. On the verge of tears, she opened her mouth to retort, but no words could sound out. She didn't have the time or the mind to protest the confusing will of her sister. A final brusque nod was exchanged; when the sound of approaching rustling came, she dashed off, at an obviously more comfortable sprint. Her luscious brown hair waved a final goodbye as she faded into the cover of the forest.  
The remaining girl's hair was disheveled, resembling vines as they fell down before her face. Two pools of a lighter blue animosity peered through. She hid herself messily in some undergrowth and thistle that surrounded the base of the willow. She pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around her knees. And she waited. Tears were pushing up, but she refused to release them. Not at a time like this. She buried her face into her thigh and the reason why she came flashed back in a quick moment...

_Morning spilled dimly into the midst of the room; of course, the lighting was always poor in here, but it didn't bother the girl much at all. Her bony, skinny hands gripped a serving platter which supported some tea and two mugs which had been older than she was. The worn figure that was hunched over in the lumpy beige couch on the opposing side of the room smiled back at her with a full-toothed grin. It had intrigued her for years, to know the old witch's secret. At the miraculous age of 97, she had all of her teeth, and could sense anyone's presence within the entire house although blindness had altered her years ago. But she never questioned it. She let the essence of the mystery overcome her. It was surprisingly pleasant. _  
_"Don't have to be hasty now, dear. Come, come." she gestured for her to approach. Without further hesitation, she came over, placed the platter on the rickety oakwood table between the chair and the couch and seated herself in the chair she always sat in when she came to Old Ellie's shack at the very end of the road, past the forest, almost to the edge of the territory. It was a pleasant house, and people certainly did not mind walking over once in a while to listen to a story or gain advice, or more accurately, insight. _  
_"Azalea, dear, can you put in some sugar for me?" Lea knew the old hag could manage it herself, but she was also aware that she enjoyed her company. For months now she had visited Old Ellie out of kindness, believing that her age would have faltered her more. But she was obviously misled. She nodded and put in the sugar. With the satisfying plop it made, the elder smiled and brought the cup to her lips. Taking a draught, she replaced the cup perfectly where it had been before. _  
_"Tell me dear, your family has been doing well? Luke out looking for a position from Sir..." she frowned, trying to recall the name. _  
_"Hartsworth, Miss Rillamoan, yes." Still fascinating every time, how well she knew everyone, even if she was considered a stubborn hermit. She remembered when she first came here, frightened by the fact that the old woman already knew her name. _  
_She waved a hand. "Please, please Azalea, I insist you call me Ellie at the least." she took another draught. _  
_"Then I please you insist call me Lea." she said, not unkindly, mimicking her actions. The tea was subtle, much to her pleasure._  
_Ellie nodded, a smile dawning again. "Yes of course dear, you have everyone call you that." This time she nursed the cup in her palm. "But something tells me you're troubled; you have a doubled reason for coming today."_  
_'Nailed it directly, yet again,' Lea thought. "Yes ma'am." she said, not denying the fact whatsoever. "We're worried about this year's Reaping. Everyone is, Ellie." she said the name a bit awkwardly. "Selene and I were conversing about it not two hours ago." she assumed she already knew the identity of her best friend, Selene Venatra. She had another friend, Hector, but he had been home sick that day. Ellie kept nodding politely as she listened. 'You can always count on her for that.' Lea thought. _  
_"And you wish for me to see who will be reaped this year?"_  
_Too quickly, Azalea shook her head. "Oh no... I couldn't let you release that information..." But that couldn't hide the desire that was burning a hole through her throat. _  
_Ellie smiled, knowingly, and spoke again. "Well, much to your disappointment, I cannot disturb that secret. I would not be able to tell even if it had already been determined..." Her spoon tinked as it was spun around in the cup. "That information is hidden from me..." Keeping her expression stoic, Lea offered a curt nod in return. She had to admit that disappointment hadn't overcome her, it was expected. _  
_"However.." her voice was crackly, like you would expect an old person's to be, but with seemingly even more experience, if that was possible. "I give you the odds of any one of your beloveds getting reaped this year..." _  
_A bright light flashed ambitiously in her eyes. "I couldn't ask you... if it will depreciate your strength..."_  
_Rising up from her seat, she began to hobble to the kitchen. "I think you underestimate me, Miss Lea. I'm not so weak as one would assume. That or you're very intelligent. Quite likely both." She was unsure whether to take that as a compliment or a shun. She let it pass as neither and both. Some noises of plates and bowls being moved came from the kitchen. 'I wonder if she practiced finding things when she became blind...' was a subconscious question that repeatedly appeared in her mind. Barely three minutes later, Ellie returned with several herbs a small china bowl in her hands. She placed them on the table and began to chew up the leaves. _  
_"Are you sure you're supposed to be...releasing this information to me?" she asked tentatively. _  
_Another smile, and an added wink. "I can let this one slide. You're such a good heart, dear. I didn't think I could turn down your plea." Her movements were precise and methodical, almost like art. She had practiced this for no one knew how long. Intrigued, Azalea watched intently. Soon the mixture became a purple substance, odorless to her nose. Slowly, she leaned against the back of the chair and watched Ellie take up the bowl to her face. She scented it, tasted it with her finger, and even but her ear to the bowl. Such strange things indeed. _  
_A frustrated moment spilled on her face. "It's a bit unclear... so many words are muffled..." Her lips moved, trying to make sense of the words only she could hear. Azalea wondered now if she could learn, despite the apparent dislike the higher class of District 9 gave Ellie Rillamoan. "Hunger Games is evident..." she muttered almost inaudibly. Now Lea leaned in, wanting desperately to hear more. "Well isn't that strange? Not even names... just the circumstance... someone must have..." then her words came as inarticulate mumbles. _  
_"What is it Ellie?" she inquired softly._  
_She shook her head. "I think it's implying that someone fell... off a stage? No, on...in. Someone fell into the stage? That can't be right... fell... in... how strange..." She placed the bowl back down and shook her head with disappointment. "I'm sorry dear, that's all I can really give you."_  
_By now, Azalea's face had gone a ghastly white. Her hands had become clammy and were clenched up. She nodded. "No, no. It's alright, I understand fully." Rising up to her feet she picked up her bag at the doorway and began to open the door. "Thank you, Miss Rillamoan, Ellie!" she replied as enthusiastically as she could manage before leaving for good. _  
_"You're welcome dear!" she heard faintly as she left. Just as the door shut, she heard a grim, ominous, "Take care of yourself." It was not the usual, 'I'll see you tomorrow at the same time, dear.' The entire walk home, her face regained no color, and her eyes faltered several times. _

_A member of the Fellin family was to be reaped tomorrow. _

Now the Peacekeepers, there were three of them, she was sure, were within a five meter radius. It was uncomfortably close. But she knew she couldn't move. Even if they located her, she couldn't move. Not even if they tortured her to the very last possible answer she could give, she could not move. Paralyzed on the spot, she heard them coming closer. _This is it... they're going to get me..._ the thought danced unpleasantly now.  
Abruptly, a hand grasped onto her shoulder, another two joined it and pulled her up from hiding. She released a piercing scream, almost banshee like, and struggled to get out of their grasp. She twisted frantically, shouting "Ge'roff! Get off me!" She screamed for the second time as the forced her hands behind her back and carried her like a lamb to the slaughter all the way back to the Town Square of District 9.

The Reaping of the 99th Hunger Games was already in session.

Many watchful, fearful eyes followed her as the Peacekeepers shoved her forwards, although she tripped twice in the aisle-way. It felt like a death-march. She had heard about those in school, they happened a long time ago, to people who were considered lessers, mutiny to society. Azalea thought it suited her quite well now. She didn't miss the shocked, but concerned expression that dwelled on Selene's face as she passed, Hector's being mutual on the opposing side. There were plenty of people she recognized, which was slightly embarrassing; but not as bad as the feeling that pitted into her heart when she saw the dark countenance of the Mayor. She broke the gaze and stared down at her muddy, torn boots. She didn't expect to get a new pair. It took a lot of her energy to lift her legs up the steps. She halted when the Mayor's clean, shiny shoes were a mere foot from hers.

The crowd had gone silent. "The crime, Mister Reginald?" the Mayor inquired of the Peacekeeper to her left.  
"The crime is runaway, sir. There were two, we believe, but we only caught this one."  
"Cowardice is more of the crime sir." Azalea dared to speak. It wasn't like her words mattered anymore. She was going to be shunned by almost everyone in District 9, if not the Capitol now.  
The Mayor probably nodded. "Identity?"  
No offer came from any of the Peacekeepers. "Eh-hem." he coughed, implying that it was _she_ who was asked the question. Warily, she looked up and met the cold eyes of her current Mayor. He was roughly in his late fifties, an average height and weight man, with normally very little to say.  
For a few moments, she offered him nothing. She didn't feel any oblige to him. But it had to be done.  
"Azalea Wren Fellin, Your Honor." she said, almost challengingly. Her eyes were notably like blazing ice.

The Mayor gave a curt nod. "Do you deny this claim, Miss Fellin?"  
"No, sir." she nodded briskly in return. "I intentionally ran away from the Reaping Ceremony." she admitted flatly, yet with an inner boldness. Some gasps came from the crowd. Nothing less than expectation.  
At the moment, the Mayor seemed to be pondering something. His right foot tapped slightly, she realized as he did so. A foreboding silence hung in the air again.  
"Shall we take her into custody, Your Honor?" the Peacekeeper to her right broke the silence. The Mayor glanced his way. For a particularly cloudy, cold day, it certainly seemed warm outside. To Lea at least. "No." he stated simply. A baffled expression came from the Peacekeepers and some in the horde.

He grasped the teen gently by the shoulders, and pulled her from the Peacekeepers. But his presence wasn't so comforting either. Turning her around to face the crowd, she suddenly felt faint. Her eyes wandered to her boots again. He raised up her arm, high in the air, as if she had a mark on her hand for everyone to see. She hadn't even paid any attention to the other tributes standing grimly at the edges of the stage. She felt sorry, and couldn't dare look at their faces, lest she would recognize them.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of my dear District 9; for the first time in Panem history, I offer you a tribute whose name was not picked by the tradition, but by punishment and debt!" Her head jerked up, meeting the thousands of eyes in the group. In her chest, her heart pounded unnaturally.

"I give you Azalea Wren Fellin, Your Fourth Tribute of District 9 for the 99th Hunger Games!"


End file.
